Cora
by ladykikyo1792
Summary: We know her only as the mother of the Evil Queen, a woman who made a remarkable rise from Miller's Daughter to Queen, then set her daughter upon the throne, and when betrayed by her daughter, became Queen again, this time as Queen of Hearts. But who is Cora, really? Is she truly evil? Or did love lead her down the wrong path? This is the true story of Cora.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: After seeing "The Miller's Daughter" on "Once Upon a Time," one of my favorite shows, I was captivated by the character of Cora. I knew I had to write her story, because every evil has its source. And the legacy of the woman who made the Evil Queen evil...was she really all bad? Or were her ambition and love misguided? _

_So this is Cora's story. Some of it is canon, some of it I will need to fill in the blanks, as the show has not yet covered those periods of Cora's life._

Please enjoy.

~ladykikyo1792

* * *

**Prologue**

She sticks her foot out, and I stumble to the ground, the sacks of flour spilling everywhere. White dust covers my already dirty clothes, and I can feel everyone's eyes on me- though no one really sees me. This is made even more evident by the fact that they address her, the simpering chit in her pink gown, and ask "What happened?" as if they didn't notice the event themselves. Her haughty response, "The peasant fell...as they do," rings in my ears. As if she herself hadn't tripped me for her own vain amusement. As if she herself wouldn't have fallen if I'd done the same thing to her.

"Are you all right?" the king asks.

On instinct, I reply, "Fine!" and shake my hands, trying to regain some dignity in a vague attempt of cleaning them of flour and dirt. I'm unsuccessful in my efforts, and I know it will take hours to get rid of this filth from my already ragged clothes.

"Not you," the king retorts, and he glances at me perfunctorily before inquiring after the girl, "Eva? Are you all right, Eva?"

"Well," the little bitch replies, "She ruined my slippers." Primly, she lifts her satin gown to display a dainty set of slippers, encrusted with pearls, a small portion of one covered by a faint outline of flour. Those slippers are hardly ruined. If she even rubs them with a little water, they'll be good as new. Hell, if she doesn't want them, I'll take them. The slippers are finer than anything I've ever owned, and if I remove the pearls, I can feed myself and my drunkard father for a year- and the slippers will still be beautiful.

But Eva- I guess that's the girl's name -is intent on humiliating me to the best of her ability, and she continues to act as though I have done her a grave injury.

The handsome man beside her, wearing the sashes of royalty- the prince? -interjects, "I don't think the girl meant any harm."

I pull myself to my feet, thanking the gods that finally one of the royals has some sense. I'm not sure why he's trying to protect me, but predictably, the others ignore him, and predictably, the king is harsh in his punishment for a crime I didn't commit:

"You shall receive no money for the flour, and you will apologize to Eva."

At his words, I'm incensed, "Apologize!? The wench tripped me!" I can hardly believe this is happening. What do I have to apologize for? Her spoiled actions, which while may have amused her for a moment, have cost me meals for the next two weeks?

"Curb your tongue," the king admonishes me, "This is Princess Eva from the Northern Kingdom, our honored guest. She's a very important woman." At the king's introduction, Eva shifts, the better to show off her impressive gown, flawless white gloves, and glittering tiara. She raises her chin, and instantly I recognize a woman who has never had to work in her life, a woman who receives everything she wants because it simply falls into her lap. She has a charmed existence, and expects everyone to facilitate that- and of course they do.

Except me.

"She's a girl," I say derisively, and I sneer at her. I fight for every day I'm alive, and while my hair's a tattered mass and hers is upswept, and I'm in dirty, old rags and she's in a brand new gown, worn only once, I know I'm a better woman than her. My father has done nothing to help me, and yet I still love him and suffer to keep us both breathing. She is so bored by her pampered lifestyle she takes her pleasure in hurting someone she doesn't even know.

What kind of woman has the world and does that?

At my words, Eva's shocked. She swallows, and it's clear this is one of the only times someone's ever called her out for her cruelty. She doesn't seem to know what to say, and for the first time, she sees me as more than a girl in rags. I am her equal, despite my origins, and if no one else here knows that, she does.

"Who are you, miller's daughter?" the king demands, "What's your name?"

I am more than a peasant to them now. I have defied the laws of nature and blood that separate royalty and commoners, and I present a special breed of problem. I questioned the order.

I raise my chin, imitate Eva, and announce with all the dignity I can muster, "Cora."

My name has no title, only itself to declare my person. It is not enough. While I have a face to these royals, I am still beneath them, in their minds. Born into dust, covered in dust, and bound to end in dust.

"Then kneel, Cora."

I do, though it kills me inside. I fold my knees as gracefully as I can and kneel in the dust where I was born. Still, I do not bow my head. I will not allow them that privilege.

"Now, apologize."

I tilt my head at the king and remain silent, unwilling to reward the bratty Eva for her actions. Angrily, he responds:

"Apologize! Or this will be the last bit of flour we will take from you. There are other millers out there."

Despite myself, hunger wins out over dignity, and I say stiffly, "I beg your pardon, Princess Eva." Each word is like a knife slicing over my skin, and I have to force them out through gritted teeth.

Eva knows she has won; she has made me kneel before her, and she offers me a smirk that I want to slap off her pretty, powdered face. The powder is expensive, and I want to smear it and destroy it- or perhaps show her she can achieve the same, affected look with flour for a lot cheaper, if she would only kneel in the dust like me.

"Stay down until we have passed," the king commands, then pronounces, "You are where you belong." He sweeps away, Eva at his side, courtiers following like devoted puppies. Only the prince looks back at me for a moment, but then, he too departs to follow Eva.

I have left her mind, and she will not remember me. To her, I am expendable, and I am as easily forgotten as a rainy day.

_I'm not expendable, _I think angrily, _I'm better than her. And for a second, she knew it. She understood that. _

I _am_ better than her. And in that moment, I vow that I will make them all remember me. They will all recognize me, and for more than an instant. I will rise out of this dust and they will acknowledge me as an equal. I will have a legacy to my name, and I will need no title to be known in this land.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1**

I stomp inside our hut, hardly surprised to see my father slumped before the table, a mug of ale in his hand. This happens every day. It's what's happened every day since my mother died. When she died, so did he. He is like a zombie, living only in a dream world fueled by alcohol and heartbreak. I have raised myself since eight years old, and it's only because of me clawing my way to survive that myself and this walking dead man still live.

I hate and love him in equal measure, and while I know I could leave him and survive, I also know he'd die, truly die, without me. In the darkest depths of my heart, while I sometimes wish he _would_ die to free me from this life, I will not _allow _him to die. I won't let him waste away, and it's me who really does all the milling, and me who sells the flour, and me who takes the money and somehow budgets it to feed us, and me who spoons the food into his mouth.

Today I can't bear to look at him. I know what Eva would think, if she saw him.

_The peasant's a drunk, as they are._

She'd laugh at me for having a drunken father. I have no doubt her father wears attire equally as glittering as hers and is a great statesman, otherwise King Xavier wouldn't treat her so well. He isn't a drunk. He's taken care of his daughter every day of her spoiled, pampered life.

And despite myself, and despite how I can't stand her, I wish I had a father with the power to take care of me, like she does.

Sitting down at the table across from my father, I ask, "Father?" He stares at me blankly, as though I don't even exist. He's worse than earlier, when at least he spoke to me. His excuse for drinking is that he's "resting," and he tells me often that I shouldn't interrupt his rest. Most of the time I ignore it, but lately I've been snapping at him. I feel frustrated. We're stuck in this meager existence. The little money I get goes to food, and he takes part of that to fuel his addiction. We're constantly in debt, and I'm powerless to get us out of this mess. Before long, we'll be in debtor's prison.

There's no freedom from debtor's prison- unless, of course, your debt is paid. And ours never will be. I'm all my father has in the world, and if we both go, we'll spend the rest of our lives behind bars.

But he won't do anything to stop that. All he does is goddamn _drink, _and he lets me suffer at the expense of his precious alcohol.

Suddenly, the rage of the past ten years erupts, and I shriek at him, "Father! Why are you doing this? Why are you condemning us? A real father _protects_ his daughter, and takes care of her, and provides for her!" he stares at me, his eyes glassy, and I stand, gripping the edges of the table with my fingers, and demand, "What have you done, but thrown me to the wolves? What have you done, but given up your freedom to that accursed drink, and abandoned me in the pursuit of your next glass of ale?!" abruptly, my anger dissipates as swiftly as it arrived, and a single tear streaks down my face as I ask, "Daddy, why won't you _help _me?"

My father continues to stare blankly, ignores me, then takes another swig of ale.

As always, I will have to help myself.

* * *

_Author's Note: I promise the chapters will get longer from here on out! I needed to set up the premise, though. I'm halfway down through Chapter 2 already, so that should be published fairly soon. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it! _

_~ladykikyo1792_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 2**

I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I'm _wearing _this, this beautiful blood red gown, accented in black. It's finer than anything I've ever owned, and I still don't know how I managed not only to get it out of that seamstress' shop without being caught, but also how I got it on myself- a corset normally requires the help of two people to lace it up. What surprised me most about it, though, was how well it fit- as though it were made for me. I slipped it on, gazed at my reflection in the river near our shack, and gasped. I looked regal- no, royal.

But I'm not royal. All I have is my name.

After tonight, though, maybe I'll have more. I can't get the royals out of my mind. King Xavier, in all his snobbery, Princess Eva, in her cruelty, and Prince Henry, who, while he apparently had a snippet of kindness in his soul, still knew enough of royal duty that he followed that brat. Apparently, they were all going to some kind of ball tonight to find a noblewoman or princess who would become Prince Henry's betrothed. I'm pretty certain it's all just a charade to keep political relations going well with the other nearby kingdoms- it's obvious King Xavier wants to betroth Prince Henry to Princess Eva. The peasants are already whispering that they're betrothed, and this ball is just a cover for when and how it will be announced.

I'd only heard this on the way home from my disastrous delivery, as the rumors of what happened swirled around my village. The townsfolk whispered all about how the prince's betrothed had had her slippers ruined- by me.

That bitch had no idea what her one moment would do to me. Now my own people were snubbing me, and they wouldn't buy my flour. They already were hesitant enough to do so with my drunken father, but now I was almost an anathema to them.

_I have to do something, _I had thought angrily. _I have to fix my reputation. _ Thoughts of Eva and Henry swirled in my head. _What if I could speak to him_**_? _**I had wondered, _Explain my side of the story? _I had had a feeling Henry would believe me. Maybe he would even end the betrothal. Surely a kind-hearted man like that wouldn't want to marry a cruel bitch like Eva. And imagine Eva's face if he ended their betrothal because of_ me,_ Cora, the miller's daughter.

With that final, satisfying thought, I waited until the seamstress, Mrs. Cattery, went out to pull water from her well. I dove into the shop, pulled the first dress I saw, and ran like hell.

So on a string of impulses, I ended up here, the improbable peasant in a room of nobles and royals. _But I'm not faceless anymore_, I remind myself, _They know you. You can't just be here. _Gingerly, I steal someone's abandoned black mask, affixed with dozens of black feathers. It matches my gown perfectly, and I know that without a doubt, I'm one of the most alluring and striking women in the ballroom tonight.

I pluck a red rose- my favorite flower, and my favorite color -and stick it in my hair for good luck, then walk through the sea of dancers to the man dressed in an ornate white and silver outfit. A silver sash ties around his waist, and he sports a silver mask. Even disguised as he is, I recognize Prince Henry.

I stand beside him and adopt the affected manner of a noblewoman and muse, "Has the king really brought all these wealthy women here to vie to purchase his son?" I don't know Henry, but I think such a question will resonate with him. He seemed aware of his father's hypocrisy this afternoon, and he also seemed to have a conscience. He probably finds the entire ball distasteful, especially since it's not even real, but ever one for royal duty, is here anyway.

"Poor Prince Henry," I sigh dramatically, and he replies, "You're very frank."

"Well, I-" I face him and pause, pretending I've had no idea I was standing to the prince of the realm himself, "Oh, my. You're him...you're the prince," I turn away, seemingly embarrassed, "I'm very, very- I'm a goose, aren't I?"

"I don't know, let's find out," Henry says, and offers me his arm. Flirtatiously, he adds, "Can a goose waltz?"

To be honest, I don't know how to waltz- but I do know I'm the equal of anyone in this room. To think, this morning I was kneeling in flour, and now, I'll be dancing in the arms of the most coveted bachelor in the land!

If anyone can pull this off, it's me- or so I promise myself.

"I wouldn't want to stand in the way of anyone purchasing you," I demur, though I let him lead me to the floor. He bows to me, and inquires:

"Then what are you doing here?"

I curtsy back, and I blurt out the first thought that pops in my head, a comment that I somehow know Henry will like, "I just came for the free food." He chuckles to himself, and I can't help but smile. Growing more confident, I add:

"Exquisite mutton, by the way." It truly was. I hadn't had mutton in months. It was so good I had to stop myself from devouring the entire thing.

"Thank you," Henry replies, his eyes aglow, and I can sense his attraction to me. I can have him wrapped around my finger, this kind prince, and for a second, I allow myself to wonder what it would be like to have a man such as him love me.

My daydream is broken by the arrival of King Xavier himself, still snobby even in his mask, who has apparently noticed his son's unknown dance partner.

"Excuse me, my boy. May I cut in?"

Henry's hesitation is obvious, and he clearly doesn't want to stop dancing with me, the witty, pretty girl in red. But one can never say no to the king, and with a regretful glance at me and a polite "Of course" to his father, Henry leaves.

As the king and I start to dance, my heart- the traitorous thing -starts to pound. I try to act calm:

"Your Majesty," I say lightly, "I didn't expect this honor." Admittedly, part of me _is _flattered. The man who commanded me to kneel has now commanded his son to leave so he can dance with me!

But still, part of me is afraid, and my heart sinks as he states emphatically, "Tis no honor. Did you think a stolen gown and pilfered mask would keep me from recognizing you? There is straw on your dress. You carry the mill with you, miller's daughter."

At his comment, my anger resurfaces, and I retort, "You've got some nerve, disparaging me! You're selling off your own flesh and blood!" And to Eva, of all people, though of course I don't say that to him. I have a feeling my disgust at that isn't going to win me any favors with this king.

"You're an insolent girl!" King Xavier rebukes me and tries to defend himself, "The kingdom has been strained by righteous wars. We need our gold, yes," then he adds, snubbing me further, "We are still _miles_ above your kind."

My blood boils. He honestly believes that. This man, this man who made me _kneel_ in the dust because some spoiled princess tripped me, this man who is selling his son to that same selfish brat, really thinks he's better than me? Me, who works every day to keep her own flesh and blood alive? Who sacrifices her happiness to keep her drunken father breathing?

How _dare_ he! I stare at the king, wishing I could say all the condemnations flooding through my mind, when he harshly commands:

"So, now go! There's nothing you can offer us other than errant strands of straw!" Disdainfully, he lifts the offending piece of straw from my dress, holding it in front of my face.

My pride will not let me walk away from him this time, and before I can stop myself, I say:

"That is _nothing_ but an illusion!"

The king, simultaneously intrigued and skeptical, queries, "What can you possibly have to offer us?"

I raise my chin, considering. This is the moment that will change my life forever. I feel it in my bones. What do I say, though? There is no going back from this instant.

"I- I can turn straw...into gold," I reply awkwardly. Even I can hear the fear in my voice, though I attempted to mask it with pride. I don't know where I came up with this idea.

As the king laughs at me, I add, this time more confidently, "And solve all your woes." I can't _actually _turn straw into gold, of course. But if it's gold the king wants...how ironic would it be if the straw he is so disdainful of could be the straw that saves him? He could never look down on me then.

"Really?"

"But," I reply haughtily, "as you've insulted me, you shall not reap the benefits."

There! I hope that this will simultaneously make him regret his cruelty towards me, and also cover the fact that I cannot spin straw into gold.

Wanting the last word, I tell King Xavier, "Good luck whoring your son." Then I hold my head high, lift the skirt on my beautiful red gown, and walk away from the bastard.

Suddenly, the king grabs my arm, and projects his voice to all corners of the ballroom: "My loyal subjects! We have a very special personage with us." The courtiers murmur as he drags me to a set of stairs in front of them. I clasp my hands, forcing my fear and embarrassment down. They stare at me, and obviously, they do not recognize me. Their curiosity is palpable, but they know their king. It's quite clear what his opinion of me is to them, and they're just waiting for him to pronounce it out loud.

"This woman tells me that she can spin straw into gold."

The nobles all laugh, and my anger flares again. Still, I won't show them how I hate being humiliated. I keep my face straight and my head high.

"And she is going to demonstrate it for us," King Xavier continues, then commands, "Fetch a spinning wheel!"

_Oh my God_, I think frantically, _I can't do this! I can't do this! How do I get out of this? _

After a moment, I announce, "It takes...time. To gather my thoughts." The excuse is feeble, and everyone knows it.

"Oh," Xavier says, amused, then adds, "I'll tell you what, my dear. Spend the night here, locked in a tower full of straw, spin it into gold tomorrow, and you can marry the prince." He points to Prince Henry, as if I don't know who he is. The nobles gasp, and whisper to each other. Eva's mouth drops open. Prince Henry smiles at me, and my heart thumps in my chest.

But I have no time to think of Henry, as King Xavier leans in gives me a sinister promise: "Fail, and you die."


End file.
